The Tragedy of Life
by Danae3
Summary: V is after the Order's spy, and will stop at nothing to find him. When the Burrow is attacked, Ron finds himself unable to deal with the incident, pushing away his friends. Story one of three. rating may go up for character death
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing.  Harry Potter and his world are the creation of JK Rowling.              

AN: This story is not a continuation of "Lost," nor does it make reference to anything that happened in that story.  Sorry.  I haven't written a sequel to it yet.

"End, begin, all the same.  Big change.  Sometimes good.  Sometimes bad."

                                                                        -Aughra, The Dark Crystal

Ron awoke slowly, lazily, as his mind fought his body's annoying impulse to wake up at that moment.  He opened his eyes a crack, and seeing that his room was still dark, rolled over and pulled his blanket higher.  He did not see the shadow leaning over him, reaching out to grab him.

            "Ron!" it hissed.  "Ron, wake up!"

            "Hmph."

            "Ron!  Now!"

            The boy sat up quickly, rubbing furiously at his eyes, as if he could force the drowsiness out of them, before staring up at the dark figure above him.

            "Dad?  What time is it?" he asked groggily. 

            "There's no time!  You have to get downstairs!"

            "Huh?  Why?"  His eyes were focusing now, and what he saw was not comforting.  His father was fully dressed, unshaven, and shaking like mad.  "Dad, what's going on?"

            "They're coming."

            Now Ron was fully awake.

            They're coming.

            Death Eaters.

            In one movement, he was out of bed, his hand scrambling over his nightstand in search of his wand.

            "Now, Ron!  There's no time!" his father told him, grasping him by the arm and pulling him from the room.

            "But- my wand!"

            "You don't need it!  You're getting out of here."

            The lanky teenager was pulled down the stairs.  Ahead of him, he could see his mother leading Ginny by the hand.  Ginny looked back at them over her shoulder, her eyes wide and terrified.

            Suddenly, the house shook violently, forcing the inhabitants to grab onto the stair rail until it steadied itself again.

            "They're close," Ron heard his mum gasp.

            "Molly!  Go!"

            They sped down the stairs into the living room, stopping before the fireplace.  Mrs. Weasley grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the mantle.

            "Ginny, you first!"

            Ron chanced a glance out the window.  Even now, he could see shadows making their way across the yard toward them.  He turned back in time to see a green fire engulfed his sister, sending her to safety.  The house shuddered again.

            "You're next, Ron," his mum said.  "Hurry, before they close the Floo connection!"

            Ron stepped forward, grabbing a handful of the powder.

            "What about you and Dad?"

            "Don't worry," she told him, cupping his cheek.  "We'll be right behind you."

            "Hogwarts, Ron," his dad chimed in.  "We'll be right there."

            The window beside them shattered, showering glass over the room and its occupants.  Ron felt the small shards slice at his bare arms and face, burying themselves in his flesh.  His mum screamed beside him, but his dad only ran to the window, firing curses at the shadows moving without.

            "Ron, go!" he called over his shoulder.

            "I'll help you, Dad!"  He turned to run upstairs for his wand, but was restrained by his mum's hand on his arm.

            "No, Ron.  Go now.  Your father and I will be right behind you, but you need to take care of Ginny until we can get there."

            "But Mum-"

            "NOW RON!" She screamed in a voice that made the young man before her cringe like a berated boy.

            Ron nodded, dropping the powder, and declaring, "Hogwarts!"

            The trip seemed to last forever, every second feeling like an eternity until Ron was finally spat from the connecting fireplace and fell forward onto the stone floor.  Looking up, he saw he was in the Great Hall.  Ginny was standing nearby, tears in her eyes.

            "Ron!" she cried, seeing the blood on his arms and face.  "Where's Mum and Dad?  What happened?" 

            "I'm alright," he told her, hugging her back.  "The window exploded, but I'm alright.  Mum said they would be right behind us."  They turned so they were facing the large fireplace, waiting for their parents to step out, unharmed.

            The seconds ticked by.  Silence reigned over the castle. 

            Nearly a minute.

            "Where are they?" Ginny whispered.

            "They're coming.  Just hold on."

            Two minutes.  Time was passing much too quickly. 

            "Ron?"

            "One more minute."  He pressed his forehead against the stone mantle, staring into the fireplace, waiting.  Behind him, Ginny sunk to her knees and began crying.  It was the only sound to be heard in the castle, and though she attempted to keep them soft, they did nothing to comfort her brother.  He paced, all the while, his insides turned violently.

            It was too long. 

            Why weren't they here?

            Four minutes.  Nearly five.

            Ron grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and dropped it in the fireplace.

            "The Burrow!" he cried, but nothing happened.

            "It's blocked," Ginny said softly.  "Mum and Dad can't get through."

            "No.  No, it's not blocked!" he shouted angrily.  "Open up!  Give me my Mum and Dad!"  He kicked the bricks, as if it would convince the chimney to spit out the Weasley parents it had stuffed up its sleeve.  "Open up!  Open!  Mum!  Dad!"  He was screaming now, hitting at the bricks with his hands and fists, not noticing as the skin on his palms and knuckles was torn open, and bloody prints were left behind on the stone.  "MUM!  You promised!  You said you'd be right behind us!"  Ginny sobbed behind him, calling his name to stop, but he heard nothing but the silence within the fireplace.  "DAD!  You were supposed to be behind us!"  His voice echoed through the castle.  Tears streamed down his face. 

₪₪₪₪

            Just moments ago, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape had been sitting peacefully in the Headmaster's office, sipping tea and waiting for Dumbledore to return.  The castle had been absolutely silent, suiting both Heads of House just fine.  Then the alarms had gone off signaling a Floo connection.   Now, they raced through the corridors of Hogwarts to the Great Hall where screams were emanating from the empty hall.

            Snape raised his wand to the heavy doors, blowing them open a mere step before they were to cross the threshold.

            The sight which greeted them chilled them both.  Ginny Weasley was on the floor, hysterical.  Ron, covered in blood, was beating at the fireplace, screaming.  There was only one reason those two children would appear at Hogwarts in the middle of the night, unannounced.

            "Mr. Weasley!  Miss Weasley!" Professor McGonagall cried upon seeing the youngest of the Weasley children, but Snape was the first to cross the huge room, grabbing Ron and pulling him away from the fireplace, where he continued to scream and bloody his hands.  McGonagall knelt next to Ginny, who turned her face into the Head of House's shoulder and continued crying hysterically.

            "Severus?" Minerva called from the floor where she comforted the younger of the two.

            "Calm down, Weasley," Snape told Ron, who continued to struggle against him.  "Calm down!  What happened?  Where are your parents?"

            "They can't get out!  The Death Eaters!" he screamed, writhing to escape the Potions Master's grip.

            A gasp escaped Minerva's throat, causing Ginny to cry even harder.

            Snape tightened his hold on the Gryffindor.

            "Calm down, Weasley!  You're going to injure yourself more!"

            "We don't have time for this," McGonagall hissed.  "STUPIFY!"   Ron slumped in Snape's arms, and McGonagall slipped her wand back into her robes.  "Severus, contact Moody.  Get someone out to The Burrow to help Arthur and Molly.  I'll find Albus.  Miss Weasley, I need you to go find Madame Pomfrey." 

            Ginny began choking on a sob as she stared at her brother laying prone on the floor.  Snape had already disappeared from the Hall.

            "Ginny," McGonagall said, pulling her chin so the young woman was looking at her.  "This is important.  Your brother will be okay.  You heard me.  I only stunned him.  You must find Madame Pomfrey so she can help him.  Do you understand me?"

            Ginny nodded, calmed a little by the adult.

            "Good.  I want you to stay in the Hospital Wing with your brother until I come back for you.  Understand?"

            She nodded again.

            "Alright.  Go on, now."  Ginny jumped up and ran from the Hall.  Only then did McGonagall slip out the back of the Hall and pull a mirror from her robes.  "Albus Dumbledore."  An image of the Headmaster appeared in the glass.

            "Minerva?  What is it?" he asked.

            "Ron and Ginny Weasley have just flooed to the school.  The Burrow is under attack!"

₪₪₪₪

Harry found himself standing in the living room of the Burrow.  Furniture was overturned or destroyed.  The windows were broken; glass crunched under his feet.  Just before him, the bodies of Arthur and Molly Weasley lay like limp dolls on the wooden floor.  Arthur was staring lifelessly at the ceiling, his eyes wide, his mouth still twisted in a scream that had died in his throat.  Molly was alive, by the slow rise and fall of her chest, though she was unconscious.

            "He's dead," Harry said bitterly, looking up at the cloaked figures before him.  "Why is he dead?"

            "He could not take the interrogation, My Lord," one answered, cowering slightly lower as Harry stepped closer to him.  "He was not murdered outright."

            Harry raised his wand.  "_Crucio__!_"  The Death Eater writhed and screamed piteously at his feet.  "You were told to keep him alive!" Harry told the remaining followers, as their eyes remained glued on their tortured colleague.  "He is of no use to me like this!"  He ended the curse, and his victim lay quite still his breaths quick and shallow.  "Next time you are given an order, you will follow it, for I shall not be so kind."

            "Ye-yes, My Lord."

            Staring with utter disdain at the man on the floor, Harry turned his attention to Mrs. Weasley.  "Wake her."

            Another Death Eater stepped forward and enervated the woman, who whimpered as she tried to keep her eyes closed.

            "Mrs. Weasley," he called gently, as if comfort had been at the forefront of his mind.  "Mrs. Weasley, it will do you no good to keep your eyes closed.  When you open them, your dear husband will still be dead."  A smile twisted the corners of his mouth as he nodded toward his followers to lift the woman to her feet.

            Molly Weasley whimpered at their touch, as if it gave her great pain, and quite possibly did, judging from the burns on her arms.  The woman took a few deep breaths, still refusing to look at the body of her dead husband, and raised her eyes to meet the cold red eyes before her.

            "Know this, Molly Weasley.  As a pureblood, you are a traitor to your kind.  The punishment for this crime is death."  He motioned toward her husband's body, though her eyes remained fixed where they were.  "Your husband has always been known as a traitor.  To you, on the other hand, I will offer a chance to save yourself and your children."  Her eyes widened a little at the mention of her children, but she remained silent.  "Come, Molly.  I offer you everything your husband never could.  Money.  Power.  The name of Weasley will be respected again.  You and your children will be respected again.  You will have futures."

            Mrs. Weasley's head jerked at this, before her eyes narrowed again on those before her.  That sweet, loving smile she was known for whenever she looked on her children returned, as if she were counting the ways their life could be improved by the man before her.  Harry's mouth pressed into a lipless smile.

            "You're right.  We never had much money or power.  I raised six boys and one daughter to realize that those weren't the most important things in life.  But as for respect-."  She shook her head back and forth, as if gently scolding.  "As for respect, we have it from those people who count.  And you do not."

            Harry growled and the Death Eater to his left stepped forward and backhanded Mrs. Weasley to the ground before stepping reverently behind his master again.

            "You realize you are going to die slowly and painfully," Harry said, raising his wand.  "You and all of your children."  Mrs. Weasley did not raise her eyes to him again.  "_Crucio__!_"

₪₪₪₪

            It was the screaming that roused them from their beds.  Normally, all they heard was crying or the boy calling out in his sleep, but tonight, tonight it was blood-curdling screams that pierced their deep sleep and chilled their spines.

            "Wha-?" Vernon cried out as he sat up in the bed Petunia had just left.  He was right behind her when she opened the door.  Dudley was already standing in the hallway just outside the boy's room, looking terrified to go in.

            Vernon pushed past his wife and son and threw the door to Harry's room open, expecting to quiet the boy up before the neighbors heard.  The sight that greeted him as he flipped on the lights stopped the large man in his tracks.

            All the dressings had been torn from the bed, and Harry lay rigidly across it, every muscle in his body clenched as if in pain.  His eyes were rolled back as he continued to scream.

            Unable to move, Vernon felt Petunia brush past him and grab the boy by his shoulders, shaking him roughly.  The boy's skin was clammy and pale, slick with the cold sweat of fear.

            "Wake up!  Wake up!" she screamed, trying to rouse him.  His eyes fluttered, then shot open so suddenly, she fell from the edge of the bed, falling unceremoniously onto the floor.  Vernon was by her side in a second, pulling her to her feet with one hand while hurriedly turning her nephew on his side as he retched.  As soon as he did so, Harry lost the contents of his stomach onto the mattress and floor.

            "What's happening?" Dudley whimpered from the door as his mother rushed past him to the bathroom for water and towels.  With nobody answering him, he crept farther into the room to see his father struggling to keep Harry on his side as violent tremors coursed through the teenager's body.  "What's wrong with him?" he asked again, sounding much younger and smaller than he was, for more than anything, he was scared.

            "Go to your room, Dudley!" his father snapped.  Dudley stared for a second, having never had his father raise his voice to him before, but remained where he was, much more terrified now that he could see and hear that his parents too were terrified out of their minds.

            Petunia returned, setting the water on the nightstand next to Harry's glasses and throwing the towel over his mess.  There was no time to deal with it now.  Vernon was still holding him, so she clasped her nephew's head in her hands and began slapping his cheek, trying to bring him back from whatever was affecting him.

            Slowly, the tremors slowed, then stopped, leaving Harry slumped on the bed, breathing hard.

            "Vernon, write a letter to that school of his.  Tell them something's wrong and they must come for him."  She glanced around the room and saw paper and a pen on the desk.  "Hurry, dear.  We can't keep him here," she said, pointing toward the supplies.  When her husband walked over to the desk, she pulled Harry up to a sitting position.  His eyes opened weakly as she pressed the water to his lips.  "Drink this."

            Harry drank the proffered water, then slumped back again, lying half against the wall and half on the mattress.  Petunia wrinkled her nose at the dirtied mattress and instructed her son to lay out the blankets on the floor.  As he did so, for once silent and obedient, she glanced over at her husband who was laboring over the wording of the letter.  After all, they had to be sure that they would not be thought at fault for what had happened, while making it clear that the boy could not stay.

            "All right," Vernon said, folding the letter.  "It's done.  So how do we send it?"

            "The same way they send mail to us," she answered, looking over at the snowy white owl who had finally calmed in its cage.

            "You can't be-."

            "It's the only way, Vernon," she snapped.  "Just give the letter to the bird and tell it to take it to the boy's school."

            Her husband looked at her as if he'd never quite seen her before, causing her to snap back irritably.

            "I saw my sister do it a hundred times.  There's no other way to contact them."

            Huffing and muttering about 'those kind of people' and their 'freaky, uncivilized ways,' Vernon trudged over to the cage and opened the door.  The bird stayed where it was until he thrust the letter forward and muttered, "Take this to the boy's school."

            "The window, Vernon."  But Dudley had already jumped up and thrown the window open in time for the bird to spread its wings and take off.

            With the proper people notified and Harry finally calmed, Vernon lifted the boy less than delicately to the makeshift bed on the floor while Petunia began cleaning up the mess.  It was not the most pleasant job in the world, but she would not have the smell wafting through the rest of the house.

            As the family began to wind down and her husband and son made their ways back to their beds, Harry began shifting restlessly on the floor, muttering softly, then more loudly. When Petunia could finally make out what he was saying, chills traveled down her spine and she knew she would not be sleeping again.

            "I killed her.  I killed her."

₪₪₪₪

            Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey apparated just outside the wards around number 4 Privet Drive.  The sun was just rising, throwing an eerie pink glow over the identical houses and well manicured yards.  McGonagall started toward the front door immediately, her eyes roaming the empty street for anyone who might have seen them appear with Pomfrey following clutching a black bag.  By the time Pomfrey again reached McGonagall's side, the front door was already opening to reveal a long-faced woman with dark circles under her eyes- Lily's sister who seemed to resemble her in no way.

            "Mrs. Dursley, I'm Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.  This is Poppy Pomfrey, our mediwitch.  Headmaster Dumbledore sent us for Harry."

            Without saying a word, Petunia Dursley opened the door just wide enough to admit both women into the house, before closing it quickly behind them.

            "I don't know what's wrong with him," she whispered as soon as the door was closed.  "He can't stay here."  She was shaking badly, though whether it was from lack of sleep, nerves, or fear, the McGonagall was unsure.

            "It's all right, Mrs. Dursley.  We're here to help him."  Pomfrey attempted to sound as calming as she possibly could, but a glance at the transfiguration professor told her they would be looking after only one person on this trip, and it was not this distraught woman before them.

            "What happened to the boy?" McGonagall asked, as if quizzing her class on the effects of some mundane transfiguration.

            "I-I'm not sure.  He was screaming in the middle of the night, not crying- screaming, as if he was being tortured.  We tried to wake him, but-."

            "But what?" Pomfrey prodded gently.

            "He was sick- all over the place.  And pale and cold."  She glanced up at the ceiling, pausing as if listening for a sound, then lowered her voice even more.  "He began talking in his sleep after Vernon and Dudley went to sleep.  He was saying, 'I killed her,' over and over."

            The two witches' eyes met for a moment.

            "Where is he?" Pomfrey asked, her voice calm and even despite the trepidation in her bones.  Afterall, this was Harry Potter they were talking about, a boy she had treated more often than most other students in the school.  And whose injuries were often more severe.

            "Upstairs.  First door on the left."  Pomfrey was already taking the steps two at a time.  McGonagall began to follow, but Lily's sister gripped her arm rather forcefully.

            "Are we in danger?" she asked, her voice high, as if trying to stop herself from crying.

            "No," she answered slowly, measuring the woman up.  She wanted to add 'not so long as you didn't cause this,' but seeing the look on the woman's face, the terror, thought better of it.  This wasn't the look of a woman who had caused harm and now feared retribution.  She honestly feared for their lives.  After all, she may be a Muggle, but even she knew to fear You-Know-Who.    McGonagall looked around, glancing up toward the ceiling.  "Where are your husband and son?"

            "Sleeping," she answered, shaking her head wearily.  "They're both sleeping."

            Minerva nodded, then turned and followed up the stairs.  It wasn't difficult finding the room.  The door was standing open.  Pomfrey knelt over a pile of blankets, seeming to examine them closely.  It was only when she stepped closer that she saw the pile of blankets was, in fact, Harry.  His skin was white, gray around his eyes and mouth, as if he suffered from hypothermia, although the room was not in the least cold.  Were it not for the slivers of green eyes watching the mediwitch hover over him, Minerva could have believed him dead.

            Both she and Harry remained silent watching Poppy complete her examination.  Harry flinched, pulling away slightly as Madam Pomfrey's hands moved over him, checking his pulse, his temperature, pressing lightly in his glands and temples.  The frown on the woman's face grew deeper and deeper.

            "What is it, Poppy?" Minerva asked at last.

            "I don't know."  She sat back, staring at Harry curiously, pale eyes meeting green in silent desperation.  "There is nothing physically wrong with him, aside from a dangerously low body temperature and a sore throat."

            "Potter, what happened?" Minerva asked, attempting to keep her voice calm, despite having some idea what had happened.  The events of the night were simply too closely related: the Burrow attacked, Arthur and Molly not appearing behind their children at Hogwarts, Potter's fit followed by ill health.  When he had dreamed about Arthur's attack a year and a half ago, he had merely been sick and weak from the experience, but if they were dead, if he had seen it from You-Know-Who's perspective-

            "The Burrow," Harry's scratchy voice said.  "They attacked the Burrow."  He squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to shut the images out of his head once more.  "I saw him do it.  _I_ did it."

            "Harry."  Poppy reached out to him, her hand on his shoulder.  "Don't think on it.  It may have just been a nightmare."

            "They're dead," he said finally.  A throaty sob worked its way out of him.  "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.  They killed them."

            Minerva shot a meaningful look at the mediwitch, who nodded knowingly and reached into a medical bag beside her.

            "Mrs. Dursley," Minerva said, addressing the woman in the doorway without turning to look at her, "if you will help me gather his things?"

            Petunia stepped forward, grateful for something to do, especially if it meant getting Potter out of her house.  She was more convinced that ever that he was a danger to them.  As they emptied the wardrobe of his shoddy clothes and packed books and papers into his trunk, Potter's crying quieted and he fell into a dreamless sleep, courtesy of Pomfrey's potion.

₪₪₪₪

Ron knew nothing more until he awoke in the dimly lit Hospital Wing.  Confused, he looked around, wondering why he was here in the middle of the summer, instead of at home.  Ginny was sleeping in the bed next to his, curled up on her side, tear tracks still staining her cheeks.  Suddenly, it all came back to him.  He was at Hogwarts because The Burrow had been attacked.  Mum and Dad were still there. 

Harry, of all people, was huddling near the door, a heavy blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his face ghostly pale, straining to hear every sound of the conversation on the other side.  He turned as Ron sat up.

            "Harry?"

            His only reply was his best friend laying his finger to his lips, signaling him to silence.  Ron climbed out of the bed and tiptoed to where Harry stood.  He could hear voices on the other side.

            "-both sleeping.  Potter is sleeping as well, though his potion will probably wear off soon." 

"Yet another problem to deal with."  Professor Snape sounded tired, and Ron could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose as he did when he was irritated.  "Why do we bother sending him home during the summer?"

Ron shot a look at his best friend, who either did not notice or would not return the look.  Why _was_ Harry here, anyway?

"Severus, what's happening?" McGonagall asked, ignoring the question.  "I've not heard from Albus since last night."

            "I'm not sure," was the reply.  "Moody and Lupin were both attacked, as well.  Moody is alright.  It seems his dust bins gave him a distraction to get away.  Lupin was injured, but he will survive mostly intact."

            "And Arthur and Molly?"

            Ron strained to hear an answer, but Snape gave none vocally.  However, McGonagall's reaction was all he needed to realize what had happened.

            "Oh no!"  She was crying.  "How do we tell the children?"

            A heartbeat passed before the answer came.

            The world seemed to tip violently for Ron, his vision blurring.

            "No," he whispered softly, his throat too tight to emit more sound.  They couldn't be dead.  Not Mum and Dad.

            "Bill already knows.  He's informing the others."  The Potions Master fell silent.  When he spoke again, he sounded much more tired than he had only a moment before.  "Allow Ron and Ginny to sleep for now.  Their brothers will be here in the morning."

            "We should speak to Potter when he wakes.  Apparently, he saw it all happen."

            "I assumed that as soon as you said he was here."

            Ron backed away from the door, his eyes wide.

            "No."  The haze at the edge of his vision told him Harry was coming toward him, but Ron didn't wanted to be comforted right then.  He didn't want to be touched.  Violently throwing off the hand that was laid on his shoulder, he screamed at the voices beyond the door, calling them liars, demanding to see his parents, throwing whatever he could lay his hands on.  Without realizing it, he was restrained again by Snape while McGonagall tried to calm him.  Finally, he collapsed in exhaustion against the Potions Master, who lowered him to his knees and backed away, as though unsure what exactly to do now that the boy had stopped ranting hysterically.

            But Ron didn't notice this.  Nor did he notice his best friend lingering nearby, his hand covering his cheek where a livid bruise was quickly darkening.  Nor did he notice his Head of House wrapping her arms around him, rocking him gently, telling him everything would be alright.

            No, Ron realized none of this, nor did he realize angry tears were running down his cheeks.  At this moment, only one thing in the world was happening.

            "He killed them.  My parents are dead, and he killed them.  Voldemort killed them."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing.  Harry Potter and his world are the creation of JK Rowling.              

AN: This story is not a continuation of "Lost," nor does it make reference to anything that happened in that story.  Sorry.  I haven't written a sequel to it yet.

"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."

                                                                        -Henri Nouwen

"Potter."

            Harry jumped, tearing his eyes away from his best friend who was crying on the floor, gently rocking back and forth in Professor McGonagall's arms.  Professor Snape was watching him with interest, his eyes flickering to his cheek where Ron had hit him, as he held out a small vial to Harry. Self-consciously, Harry lowered his hand from his cheek and took the proffered potion, swallowing it down with a practiced motion.  A familiar warmth spread from his stomach and through his limbs.

            "How are you feeling, Potter?"  His voice was low.  Not exactly kind, but not the dangerous low he so often employed when talking to Harry.

            "Sir?"  _What does he mean, how do I feel?  I just watched my best friend's parents, the closest thing to parents I've ever had, murdered through the psychopath's own eyes.  How does he think I feel?_

            "Potter?" 

            Harry realized he had been staring off into space and looked back at the Potions professor.

            "I've been better."

            The professor's mouth quirked as if he wanted to say something back, but thought better of it.  Instead, he flicked his wand so the blanket Harry had been wrapped in levitated off the ground at shoulder height.  Harry took it and wrapped it back around his shoulders, holding it tightly with one hand as a deep shiver traveled up his spine.  He returned his gaze to Ron who was now silent, but didn't really seem to be aware of anything as Professor McGonagall helped him to his feet and guided him back to his bed.

            "Potter."

            Once again, Harry jumped at his name and saw that Snape had moved to the door, holding it open with one hand and staring back at him, one eyebrow cocked higher than the other.  Realizing he was supposed to follow, Harry glanced back at Ron one last time as McGonagall lay him back on the bed, pulling the blankets to his friend's chest.  She looked up, seeming to exchange a look with the Potions professor before Harry finally followed him out of the Infirmary.

            Though Harry had expected Snape to stop just outside the door, the tall professor continued down the corridor, then disappeared around a corner, his path marked by the echo as he made his way down the stairs.  Harry followed him down much more slowly, and was surprised to see Snape waiting for him at the top of the marble staircase.  Without a word, the professor turned and made his way down to the first floor, then disappeared down the dungeon stairs.

            Harry's feet suddenly felt too heavy to follow.  He knew what would happen when they got to the dungeon.  Snape would question him about what he'd seen.  Perhaps even use Leglimency to look into his memories.  After having already experienced Mrs. Weasley's murder once, he didn't want to do it again.  Not today.  Not ever.  Without warning, his limbs began to tremble, leaving Harry unable to move whether he wanted to or not.  He was cold again, deep in his bones where no amount of Pepper-Up potion could ever reach.

            Mrs. Weasley's voice rang in Harry's ears, but it was not the kind voice he had so often heard.  It was harsh, accusing.  He had watched her murdered, had been the murderer.  A trembling hand reached out to grasp the wall, anything to keep him upright.  He closed his eyes, lips forming desperate words in silence in a feeble attempt to ward off the memories now flooding into his brain.

₪₪₪₪

            Snape waited in the dungeon corridor at the bottom of the stairs.  Potter should have appeared by now, but he hadn't, and his footsteps could no longer be heard on the stone. 

            "Potter?" Snape called, taking a step back up the winding stone staircase.    No response came, and for a moment, the Potions Master believed the boy to have turned tail and run back to the Hospital Wing.  Swearing under his breath at the Boy Who Lived, Snape made his way back up the stairs, each step echoing a satisfying 'clip.' 

            As he neared the top, Snape found the subject of his annoyance and opened his mouth to scold the boy before snapping it shut almost instantly.  Potter seemed to be clinging desperately to the wall with one hand, cringing at some invisible force as he clutched his blanket about his shoulders with the other.  Snape moved until he was on the same step as the boy, but nearly an arm's length away.  It would just be too inconvenient if he startled the boy into falling down the stairs and breaking his neck.  Dumbledore would most certainly not be pleased.

            "Potter," he said in what he hoped was a gentle, non-startling voice, but knew was no more than a low growl.  "Open your eyes, Potter.  There's no one there.  It's all in your mind."

            The boy's eyes opened slowly, as if trying to detect danger before easing himself back into reality.  Snape waited patiently as Potter relaxed his grip on the wall and glanced up at his Potions professor.  He was standing straight now, as if the images in his mind were being held at bay.  Saying nothing, Snape merely began down the steps again, glancing over his shoulder to be sure the boy was following him.  Sufficiently convinced that he was directly behind, Snape made his way down the steps, neither he nor Potter saying a word, until a loud gasp caused Snape to spin around.  Potter was half-crouched on the step, both hands pressed against his forehead.  A small cry escaped the boy's throat as one foot slid off the step.

            Potter fell forward down the steps, banging both knees and his elbow before Snape was able to catch him, saving him from a nasty concussion.

            "He's angry," the boy gasped, seeming to not notice that he had nearly fallen head first down stone steps and broken his neck.  Snape pushed him against the wall, then slid him down so he was sitting.  Potter was teetering on the edge of the step, his elbows on his knees pressing his palms harder onto his head.  The professor grabbed both his wrists and pulled them away, an involuntary hiss escaping as he spied the scar glowing a violent shade of red.  Curious, he reached up to touch the scar, feeling the heat radiating from it even before his fingers brushed the jagged mark.  Potter pulled away suddenly, banging his head against the wall, his eyes scrunched shut.  "He's- I-I've never-."  Whatever it was the boy was trying to say never made it into a coherent form.  The scar blazed again, and Potter's body stiffened.  His mouth wrenched open, expelling a long terrifying scream.

            "Harry?  Severus?" 

            "Albus!  Down here!" Snape called back, unable to tear his eyes away from the Boy Who Lived.  Albus Dumbledore appeared around the corner with Remus Lupin directly behind him, and knelt before the boy. 

            "What happened?" he asked.

            "It's his scar, I think."  Snape noticed Lupin looking at him strangely, and for good reason.  It wasn't often that Severus Snape sounded unsure about anything.  He had experienced the atrocities of both Death Eaters and the Dark Lord first hand, but this was unnerving, more so than hearing Potter spout Parseltongue for the first time.  He had, afterall, never been present when he sensed the Dark Lord.

            Dumbledore laid his hand firmly across Potter's forehead, and for an instant, those green eyes whipped open, his searing gaze screaming murder as they locked on the Headmaster.  Dumbledore, however, did not seem affected by this as he whispered in a low voice.  Potter's breathing became erratic, his hands clutching at the stone around him, as he squeezed his eyes shut.  Time seemed to stretch in the narrow staircase leading to the dungeons.  None of the men spoke, but for the whispered words of Dumbledore, though Snape could not make out what he was saying.  Tears were streaming down the boy's face.   Dumbledore too closed his eyes as Potter cried out again.  Lupin moved swiftly around Snape so he was crouching on the step directly below, reaching out to take Potter's hand, but was stopped by the Headmaster's stern voice.

            "Do not touch him."

            Lupin pulled back, looking both angry and terrified, a rare reaction for the docile werewolf, but his eyes never wavered from Potter's face.  The boy began to relax against the wall, his breathing evening out.  Drunkenly, he eyes flickered open, rolling about before finally focusing on Snape just over the Headmaster's shoulder.

            "He didn't find out."  His eyelids drooped, but he held the spy's gaze.  "And he's angry about it."  With this said, his eyes closed and his head dropped, causing him to slide sideways off the step against Lupin.  Snape remained where he was, staring dumbfounded at the boy. 

            "Albus."  Snape's eyes moved toward Lupin's, whose face was twisted with pain.  "I-  I can't-."  Dumbledore jumped forward rather agilely for a man his age and pulled Potter from Lupin.  It was only then that Snape realized that the werewolf hadn't yet made it to the Hospital Wing since his attack.  His arm seemed to hang limply from his shoulder, his shirtsleeve and chest spotted with blood.

            "Remus, we must get you to Poppy, and  I must speak with the Weasleys.  Severus, if you could take Harry to my office?  Stay with him until I return."

            Snape nodded absently, pulling Potter to his unsteady feet, so Albus could help Lupin up the stairs and to the Hospital Wing.  He then began leading Potter very slowly up the stairs.  As they came to the landing, Potter seemed to regain some strength.

            "I'm fine," he said, pulling out of Snape's grasp.  "I don't need your help."

            Snape obliged him, allowing the boy to struggle more slowly, but staying near his elbow in case he fully collapsed.  He wanted information, and arguing with the boy wasn't going to get it for him.

            "What happened back there, Potter?" he asked, trying to keep his tone as non-threatening as possible.

            "Why?  Did you fall asleep?"  Snape raised an eyebrow at the moodiness that had seemed to set in since Potter's apparent vision.  After a few more steps, the Golden Boy's energy seemed to falter, and Snape grabbed his arm before he could fall.  The boy, perspiring and breathing heavily, did not pull away this time, but allowed himself to be pulled upright and led forward.  "It was Him," he said at last.  "He knows I'm weak.  He was trying to get information."

            "But he didn't?"

            "Not from me."  They stopped so Potter could catch his breath.  "He wanted to know who the spy is.  You're who he's looking for.  You're the reason the Weasleys were killed."  The look Potter threw at him could chill blood, full of loathing and hatred as it was, but he said nothing more.  Snape didn't need to hear anything more.  It was enough to know that the Dark Lord suspected a spy in his circle, knew enough about the Order to attack four of its members in one night.

            "How long have you been ill, Potter?" he asked at last when they were at the foot of the Headmaster's Tower.

            "Why do you care?"

            "Answer the question," he replied sternly.  The boy was beginning to get on his nerves again.

            "A week.  Why?"

            "And how long has the Dark Lord been trying to break into your mind again?"

            "A little longer."  Potter became quiet as the gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the winding staircase that led to Dumbledore's office.  "Odd though.  He's been quiet for so long.  He hasn't tried since the Headmaster took over my lessons last year."

            "Odd indeed.  And your health has become steadily worse?"

            "Yeah," he answered with a slight nod.  "But it was a lot worse last night."

            A redoubled attack after so long would make it possible for the Dark Lord to break into the boy's mind, but what of the failing health?  Perhaps the strain on the mind was now beginning to affect the body as well, but so swiftly? 

            Snape helped Potter to Dumbledore's couch, then sat in a nearby leather chair, eager for the headmaster's return.

₪₪₪₪

            Remus hated being presently in the Hospital Wing.  It wasn't the forbidding Madam Pomfrey, who was attempting to rotate his arm back into his socket.  Or searing pain as his ribs mended themselves.  It was the sobbing on the far end where the Weasley children had gathered around Ginny and Ron's beds as Dumbledore spoke to them.  He felt like an outsider intruding on a private moment, despite the distance across the room.

            The ball finally snapped back into the joint, causing Remus to bite down hard so as to stop any cry from escaping.  It hurt like hell, and he wanted to scream out, but somehow his pain was nothing compared to what was going on here.  His was almost superficial.

            "How's that feel, Mr. Lupin?"  Poppy asked softly. 

            "It's fine.  Thank you."  He rotated his shoulder a few times, as if trying to work out any kinks as his eyes drifted back to the family.  They were all looking at Dumbledore now, except for Ron, who was, surprisingly enough, watching Remus.   The look on his face was- queer.  Pained, angry, curious, scared… as if it showed every emotion he was capable of, yet none at all.  And yet, meeting the boy's eyes, Remus felt almost guilty that he had survived while this boy's parents had both been killed.  Was he silently accusing him?  Should he feel guilty?

           "Mr. Lupin."  Remus tore his eyes away and looked toward the mediwitch who was holding a small bottle out to him.  "Take this for the pain."  She held up a hand to stave off Remus' argument.  "It's not very strong.  Just enough to take the edge off.  I'd rather you stay here and get some sleep, but I know when there's work to be done."  Her eyes traveled to the Weasleys, and Remus noticed Ron was now facing the Headmaster.  Had he imagined the look on his face?

            Remus tugged his shirt on, amazed at how little pain he felt in his shoulder and how much was still in his ribs as his long fingers deftly buttoned it up the front.  Madam Pomfrey had been kind enough to attempt to clean his blood from the fabric, but it had been allowed to stay for so long, that much of it still remained in small brown splotches.  Not bothering to tuck his shirt in, Remus stood from the bed where he had been sitting and, gathering up his robes, prepared to convey his condolences now that they had been left to themselves.  Albus and Minerva remained, he with Bill and Minerva standing next to Ron's bed, but they seemed to dwell most assuredly outside the small cluster of redheads.  With a heavy heart, Remus stepped forth to convey his condolences.

A/N Sorry this chapter is so short.  It hints at things to come and is important.  Next chapter will be much longer, though probably won't be out until next week or the following.  Thanks for all the reviews so far!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter and his world are the creation of JK Rowling.

AN: This story is not a continuation of "Lost," nor does it make reference to anything that happened in that story. Sorry. I haven't written a sequel to it yet.

"The remarkable thing is that we really love our neighbor as ourselves: we do unto others as we do unto ourselves. **We hate others when we hate ourselves**. We are tolerant toward others when we tolerate ourselves. We forgive others when we forgive ourselves. We are prone to sacrifice others when we are ready to sacrifice ourselves."

-Eric Hoffer

Arthur and Molly Weasley were buried in a small cemetery just outside Catchpole- St. Ottery on a sunny Thursday afternoon. The gathering was large, for the couple had been well-known for their loyalty and kind hearts, if not admired for their by now well-known stance against Voldemort, despite their pureblood status. Among the attendees were several representatives of the Bones Administration in the Ministry and past students of Hogwarts, for many of their children's friends had looked on the Weasley's as their second family. The only noticeable absence was of their youngest son.

The morning of the funeral, Dumbledore announced in a subdued voice that Ron would not be attending the burial. This announcement caused a small uprising within the family, and the twins and Charlie instantly made for the Hospital Wing to drag their brother out of bed. Dumbledore, however, stopped them with an upraised hand.

"I've been speaking to Ron all morning, and he is not ready for this." Looking sadly to each angry face turned on him, he continued. "Do not forget: Ron was the last to see your parents alive. It had been his wish to stay and fight with them, but they sent him along against his will, and the guilt he feels for their deaths lies heavily in him. I fear forcing him to face this before he is ready would only push him deeper into despair."

Though with much grumbling, the brothers listened, hoping inside that Dumbledore was right in this decision. Perhaps Ron simply needed time to come to grips with what had happened.

The next day, Ron, Ginny, and Harry were moved to Grimmauld Place were Hermione joined them for the remaining days of the summer.

₪₪₪₪

Ron lay on the curtained bed that had been his since he and his sister were moved to Grimmauld Place three days before. He had hardly moved in that time, certainly never ventured past the door of his room, and certainly never when there was anyone else in the room. It was rare though, as there always seemed to be someone in the room trying to cheer him up or convince him to come downstairs. Harry had been smart enough to quit trying after the first day, but had seemed to redouble his effort since Hermione had turned up yesterday. Ron hadn't so much as looked at him since that morning in the Hospital Wing when he had heard the Boy Who Lived had watched his parents killed.

"Ron? Ron, it's me. Hermione," the voice came again, as if he couldn't guess after hearing it nearly every day for the past six years. Did they think he was thick? Why couldn't they just leave him alone? "Ron, please, I'm worried about you. We all are."

"Look, Ron, we know how you feel," Harry's voice drifted in, angering Ron even more. He didn't want to hear that Harry-Bloody-Potter knew how he felt. He didn't care that they were worried for him. He just wanted them to leave him alone! "You can't- OW! Bugger! RON!"

The red head pulled a pillow over his head to shut them out, a ghost of a smile of satisfaction playing about his lips that they had tried to pull his curtains open and finally figured out just how much he wanted to talk to them. Perhaps the Vexatius Charm he had placed on his curtains would convince them, and when he heard the door slam shut again, he knew he had succeeded.

Finally convinced they had gone, Ron threw the curtains aside on his bed and threw himself from the soft mattress. He was tired of being still. Anger radiated from him, and he never did well when that was so. He paced, hands fisted, attempting to dispel all emotion from his body. He wanted everyone to just leave him alone. He wanted people to stop talking to him like he was some fragile- well, like he was fragile! He wanted to stop hurting. And most of all, he wanted his parents.

Stalking past Harry's bed, Ron caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the bureau. He froze, staring hard at the image, trying to catch a glimpse of his parents in him, but his nose was too long, his face too angular- even his eyes were the wrong color. He had both of their trademark red hair, but he saw nothing that truly resembled them. There was nothing in him from his parents.

"I hate you," he said quietly, then with more conviction, screaming it as loud as he could as his hand curled once again into a fist and slammed itself hard into the mirror. It shrieked as the glass shattered and flew in all directions, landing on the floor and shattering further. The door flew open almost instantly and Hermione was across the room, her eyes wide as she stared at him.

"Ron, your hand!" She cried, staring at the still curled fist where blood had begun to seep slowly through the various cuts.

"Leave me alone, Hermione!"

"But-," she stammered helplessly. "I- I just wanted-."

"To do what? To make me feel better? To tell me again that you understand? How? Did you read it in a book somewhere?" He was screaming. He knew he was screaming despite her being fewer than a dozen feet from him, and he was finding it oddly satisfying to see the tears leaking from her eyes and streaming down her cheeks.

"Ron?" Harry was standing just inside the door, breathless, as if he had just run up the stairs. "What's going on?" His eyes darted back and forth between Ron and Hermione.

"Hermione here was just trying to fix me, that's all!"

"Look, mate, we all-."

"Shut up, Harry! Stop trying to tell me you know how I feel! You think that just because your parents are dead, that you know how I feel? You don't!" He was furious now. "You never knew your parents! I knew mine for seventeen years! I know what I'm missing! So stop trying to act like it's the same thing! It's not!" From the racket on the stairs, the members of the Order coming to discover who was screaming and destroying their headquarters. Ron's eyes were glued on his best friend, who's face was completely white at the words Ron had thrown at him. "You think you're special? There's nothing special about having dead parents!"

"Stop it, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing herself before him, but he grabbed her roughly by the arm and shoved her back away. This seemed to snap something in Harry as he jumped forward, pushing Ron away from Hermione.

"Leave her alone!" he screamed, but was silenced as Ron's fist came lashing out, catching Harry squarely in the face.

It seemed to take an eon for Harry to fall back, as the punch had caught him completely off guard. Ron seemed to snap back into himself as Harry hit the ground, coughing and choking. Hermione spun, dropping to his side and wrapping her arms around him protectively as blood flowed from his nose, over his mouth and chin. He was staring at Ron in complete shock. Ron's anger dissipated, and for a moment, he stuttered an apology, but it never made it out of his mouth as the twins burst into the room, taking a quick look around the room. George jumped instantly to Harry's side, but Harry's eyes were still locked on Ron's.

"What the HELL is going on in here?" Fred yelled. The same question seemed to be on the lips of the present Order members who had also burst into the room. The anger flared back. Ron grabbed his wand someone had left on the night stand with the various unopened letters he had received and pushed his way out of the room. Fred moved to follow him, his face flushed, but Dumbledore, who had just allowed Ron to stalk by him without a word, stopped him.

"Give him some time, Fred."

As Fred tried to argue, his voice joined by Bill and Charlie, Dumbledore cast a glance at Minerva McGonagall. She nodded once, then followed the angry young Weasley out the door.

₪₪₪₪

Minerva McGonagall found the boy exactly where she thought she might: standing in the living room of the empty Burrow. She crept into the room, her paws making no sound on the wood floors, and sat on her haunches watching the boy as he simply stood. Someone had cleaned up the glass that had littered the floor, and righted the furniture that had been strewn about. Glancing around the room, Minerva's eyes landed on the family clock, and she noticed that the two longest arms, Arthur and Molly's, were stuck pointing at "Mortal Peril." She sighed to herself, hoping the boy wouldn't glance up at it.

"I already saw it." Minerva's head spun around to where Ron was watching her, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his shoulders slumped. "I know it's you, Professor. You can change back."

Seeing no need to remain in her animagus form, she shifted back to her human form, but said nothing, merely waited patiently for Ron to say something more, if that was what he wanted.

"I expected it to look different," he said at last, though he wasn't looking at his professor. "Somehow, I expected it to look like my parents died here." He stepped forward, putting his hands on the back of a faded green chair. "I always hated this house. I hated that it was so clumsy and mismatched, that we had chickens in the yard- that none of our stuff was new. And now, I'd give anything to be here again with them." He said nothing more for a long time, simply stood with his hands on the shabby green couch, as if trying to take in every detail he could. "Did Dumbledore send you after me?"

"That was quite a scene you made at the headquarters, Mr. Weasley. I was simply sent to be sure you were alright. Are you?"

"You know, whenever any of you called me 'Mr. Weasley,' I just wanted to say back, 'Mr. Weasley is my father. Call me Ron.' Guess I won't get that chance now, huh?" He turned and looked at her, his sad eyes shining with tears. "I didn't mean it, Professor. I didn't mean any of that stuff I said. I just- I don't know why I said it."

"You wanted to push them away, to hurt them. You wanted them to feel as hurt as you do right now." A shocked expression crossed his face, then disappeared quickly as he felt the truth in her words. He sat quickly on the couch, burying his face in his hands. Minerva moved toward him for the first time since she had arrived and sat beside him on the couch, though he made no movement and made to sign that he realized she was beside him. "We build walls to keep out the hurt, the pain, Ronald, but they also keep out the happiness and the healing."

"That sounds like something Dumbledore would say," he said dropping his hands.

"It should. He said those words to me nearly forty years ago when my husband and our son was killed." She glanced over and saw Ron looking at her curiously. "Did you think I was always an old professor?"

"Well, actually, yeah."

"Well I wasn't, Mr. Weasley. I was married once. I had a family."

"What happened? But, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he added hurriedly.

"It's quite alright. It gets easier with time." She smiled sadly and sighed. "When I was very young, not much older than yourself, I fell in love with and married Nathan McGonagall. We had a son, Sean. Nathan was a very talented Auror, but because of that, he had many enemies, as I'm sure you can imagine. Nathan, however, never really believed himself important enough to be threatened, never wanted to be one of those wizards who were afraid to go outdoors or onto public places. He lived his life. When Sean was seven, they went to Diagon Alley. He was going to buy our son his first broom. I stayed home, though I can't remember why." Her voice tapered off for a moment, but a wave of her hand brought her back. "Anyway, the brother of a man Nathan had arrested was also in Diagon Alley, recognized him from the trial, and killed both him and my son in broad daylight."

"I'm sorry, Professor."

"So am I. I knew your parents for many years. They were wonderful people- and they loved their children very much."

"I know. I never thought about it until now, but Mom and Dad, they really loved us. I used to think that if they had fewer kids, they'd have more money, be happier."

"Money was never important to them."

"I know." Ron's eyes were welling up with tears, but he furiously wiped them away with the back of his hand, hoping his professor wouldn't notice. He took a deep, shuddering breath, but his throat closed up on his, forcing a sob to escape. The tears he had tried so hard to hold back were now rolling down his face, which he buried once again in his hands.

A comforting hand fell on his back.

"It's okay to cry, Ron. It's okay that it hurts. It only means that you loved them dearly."

"When does the hurting stop?" he asked, his voice tight.

"It doesn't," Minerva answered quietly. "It never really stops, but it gets easier to manage. Some days, you will wake up feeling like your world has been ripped from you, and others, the pain is numb and you can live again." She sighed heavily, wiping at her eyes with a white handkerchief. "But the thing to remember is that you must never give up living, no matter how much you want to lock yourself away." She smiled at her student. "I tried that, and Dumbledore was right. You can't heal if you push away everyone who is trying to help you."

They sat in silence for a long while afterward, Ron's shoulders shaking as he attempted to calm himself until his tears had fallen and his sobs escaped, both of their minds filled with those people they had lost, as they stared into the empty fireplace. The sun had long set, and the room was nearly dark when the clock rang out nine o'clock.

"Come, Mr. Weasley. We should return before anyone starts to worry." Ron rose from the couch, pulling his wand from his pocket.

"Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. This- you really helped."

"You're welcome, Mr. Weasley. And remember, my door is always open to you."

They disapparated from the silent house.

₪₪₪₪

Ginny Weasley sat cross-legged on her bed running her fingers through Crookshanks' ginger fur. The previous week had been rough on her, as the dark circles around her eyes made apparent, but as bad as things were, they seemed to be getting worse. Namely, because of Ron. Ron, her rock, had completely closed himself off from everyone including herself, leaving Ginny to pretty much fend for herself emotionally. Sure, she had other brothers, but Charlie and Bill were making arrangements and going through records, and the twins were, well, the twins, not really needing anyone but each other, and while they had tried briefly to talk to Ginny, she had only ended up crying so hard that Lupin had asked them both to leave the room. They weren't being rude or anything. It was just that seeing them be so serious and dour only reminded Ginny even more about the cataclysmic event that had crash landed in a fiery explosion in the middle of her family. There was Percy too, but he wasn't around much, and when he was, his idea of comfort was nowhere near meeting the standards of its title.

Harry and Hermione helped a great deal, talking to her and drawing her into games of chess and Exploding Snap, but Ginny still felt empty inside, though through no fault of her friends. It was knowing Ron was having such a tough time that seemed to keep her dwelling on the edge of depression. She thanked the gods a hundred times over that she had been sleeping when Ron had finally appeared out of his curtained bed in order to scream something horrible at Hermione and Harry and to lash out physically. She had woken near the end in time to see Professor McGonagall hurrying after her brother, then to see George leading Harry from their room, blood dripping down his face and staining the front of his shirt, with Hermione behind, silent with red-rimmed eyes. Somehow, without even having to ask, she knew it was Ron who had caused all of this.

A knock at the door brought Ginny from her absent petting. She shooed the cat from her lap and went to the door, surprised to find a very grim looking Ron at the door. She wanted to be angry at him for lashing out at his friends, for leaving her alone in her grief, but as soon as she saw him, tears sprang into her eyes.

"Hi, Gin," he whispered, pulling her into a bone crushing hug. She allowed herself to melt against him, burying her face in his robes, glad that he was okay. Suddenly, it seemed that maybe the hurt could go away now that her big brother seemed to be better. All too soon, his grip loosened, and she knew he wasn't really here to see her. "How are you?" he asked softly, holding her shoulders and looking closely at her.

"I'm okay," she answered, surprised that her voice shook as it did. She didn't realize how much she needed him to be okay. He smiled softly at her.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."

"It's okay. I understand. Really."

"Look, Gin, can I talk to Hermione for a few minutes?" He glanced toward the bed Hermione slept in as he asked, and Ginny could see the pain in his eyes.

"Yeah. Just-." She broke off, pulling him into another hug. "Make everything better?"

"I'll try."

Ginny smiled weakly at him, then slipped out the door, pulling it closed behind her. She didn't, however, go downstairs to give them privacy. She may have been mourning, but she was still a Weasley, dammit. She looked around surreptitiously, then leaned her ear against the door.

"I asked you to leave, Ron!" she heard Hermione tell him, but whatever Ron said, he mumbled too quietly to be heard. "Talk? You want to talk?" Hermione's voice shrieked. "Fine, Ron. Let's talk!" Her voice dropped very low, and Ginny knew her brother was in for it. When Hermione was angry enough that her voice dropped, everyone knew to run for the hills. Surprisingly, Ron did not appear suddenly on the other side of the door. In fact, the twins suddenly appeared, looking very interested in their little sister with her ear pressed against the door.

"Ron's in there with Hermione," she whispered, not moving away from the door.

"When'd he go in?" George asked, pressing his ear to the door.

"Just now." He joined her, pressing his ear against the door as well, but Fred was looking angrily at the door.

"I hope she hexes him."

"She won't," Ginny whispered. "But she won't let him off easily."

"How do you know?" George asked.

"Oh, honestly, you two. Don't you pay attention to anything?" Both twins looked at her blankly. Rolling her eyes, Ginny turned her attention back to the door.

"I DON'T CARE!" Hermione's voice came through as if the door weren't closed. "You hit Harry, Ron! I can't believe you did that! As sick as he's been-."

"What do you mean, sick?" Ron's voice came back, but it sounded more demanding than it should have. Ginny groaned inwardly.

"Well of course you haven't seen it! You haven't spoken to us since we got here!"

"Did it ever occur to you that I didn't want to talk to anyone?" he demanded. "Excuse me for being selfish-."

"Odds," George whispered, his voice drowning out the arguing on the other side, "on the outcome of this argument."

"-too busy to notice HARRY has a COLD!" Ron's voice finished.

"Not a chance," Fred answered. "She's going to hex him. Just give him a chance. She'll do it."

"You're on," George whispered back taking his brother's hand. "A galleon." They all leaned back toward the door as the voices had lowered again.

"What's going on?" Tonks asked, coming up the stairs, cerulean hair pointing in all directions.

"Ron and Hermione," Fred answered.

"Fighting or-.?"

"Fighting," Ginny cut her off.

"What else would those two be doing?" Fred asked. "They're going to kill each other before they're twenty." George smirked at his brother, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Fred groaned. "Like those two are ever going to figure it out."

"Well," Ron's voice cut through. "Don't let me stand in your way! Obviously, Harry's the one who needs any help! Why don't you go find him right now? I'm sure he could do with some COMFORTING!"

"Here it comes," Fred whispered. Everyone leaned toward the door, anticipating Ron's screams at whatever hex was thrown his way. When no sound came through, they silently questioned each other on what was happening, but each only answered with a shrug. Then, a loud THUD came through the door, causing the eavesdroppers to jump. "I was just kidding," Fred said. "I didn't really think she'd kill him." The four exchanged a combination of worried and amused looks as the door suddenly flew open and Ron's petrified body was pushed out onto the landing.

"Somebody take him back to his room," Hermione said, her face red with anger, tendrils of hair sticking up in every direction. The door then slammed shut with such force that the four jumped yet again. Silence fell before Fred finally spoke up.

"So, does that count as a hex?"

₪₪₪₪

When Hermione's Petrificus Totalis finally wore off, Ron collapsed unceremoniously to the floor of his room. His brothers had brought him in and leaned him against the wall, probably very much aware that he wouldn't be able to remain standing when the charm wore off. Still shaking with anger, Ron pushed himself up and walked to the mirror to see what other damage the vengeful comedians had caused. As he could easily have guessed, his hair stuck out in all directions, a lurid shade of pink. With a wave of his wand, he changed his hair color back to its original red, then dropped the wand onto his night stand among the pile of letters he had still not opened. A glance around his room told him what he already knew. Harry's belongings had been removed to another room while he was gone. His best friends were furious with him.

Ron had never been so glad that only two days remained until the start of school, but these two days, he knew, would be long ones.


End file.
